


A Winter in Braavos

by Silberias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya is training as a Faceless Man, Braavos is so interesting as this weird venice-new york-something-something, Courtesans, Dorne makes everything better, F/M, Jaime gets Sansa out, Sansa gets to wear nice clothes, Sansa spent more years in KL than she does in canon and she is much older now, The Black Cells suck, Tyrion doesn't make it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-06 01:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16822318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: Sansa escapes to Braavos with the Dornish.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lifeofsnark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofsnark/gifts).



Sansa had finally, after many weeks in the darkness, accepted the blindness and the stink and the terror. The Black Cells did not have her Father's ghost here but she liked to imagine he sat next to her, an arm around her shoulders, and a kiss pressed to her forehead as he'd done on occasion when she was a girl. She slept when her eyes slipped closed from exhaustion, but often the skittering of vermin in the dark would wake her. The only solace of the squalor was that her circumstances had the creatures giving her a wide berth.

She learned to close her eyes when the darkness started to lighten as guards would patrol the cells and dole out whatever meager food they'd chosen to give the prisoners down here with her. The light from their torches was too bright on her eyes and she would get painful headaches and her eyes would drip tears from the pain for hours afterwards--it was easier to keep her eyes shut, to not see whatever glee or pity flashed on the men's faces as they passed her by.

Every what she guessed fourth or fifth day the guards would come down with several septas bearing three buckets of water, a few jars of vinegar, and a new haircloth shift. The men would stand dutifully turned away while the septas effeciently stripped the haircloth from Sansa's shoulders, scrubbed her down once with water, then with vinegar that they poured over her head, and then one before her and one behind her would throw the remaining two buckets of water at her. They would yank the new haircloth shift over her before the guards would chain her to a new patch of wall several feet from the one she'd previously occupied. The stink of the vinegar in the following few days was a blessing for it numbed her to the stink of her own waste somewhat.

The guards never spoke, and they beat the prisoners who would weep or scream or question. The first spell of time down here she had bitten her lips bloody trying to contain her screams of terror and anguish--grunting and whimpering with pain when the guards came to quiet her down with their fists and boots. When she stopped making noise their fists fell to their sides, their feet planted to the ground, and they retreated away, leaving her once more in silent darkness. She had come to consider it a point of pride that she was no longer beaten--she had learned to weep and scream and rage in silence, not even jostling her chains as she did so.

The Queen would not call for her head, Sansa had decided, and preferred to let her rot down here. If she was meant to be executed they would have done so by now--or at least they would have brought her out to be pilloried, or stripped naked before a gaggle of septons to inspect her for any sinful deficiencies, or just had an assassin come down here in the dark to throttle her to death. Instead the Queen preserved Sansa's pale skin, ensured her long hair did not waste away from lice, and intended for her to be immured down here until she drew her last breath.

It was at least a peaceful way to live, Sansa decided after awhile, for there were no expectations to meet and no mazes to solve. There were no trick words that played on her assumptions about the world, and as long as she obeyed the one rule of complete silence there was no cruelty. It was a blessing, of a kind, that if her world was to be devoid of liveliness and comfort it at least matched what anyone else would say was devoid of liveliness and comfort. What she saw and understood about her life down here were true and no one could take that from her.

Or so she'd thought, until Ser Jaime Lannister came for her in all his gilt Kingsguard armor. The light, from his torch and the reflections off his armor, burned her eyes but she didn't beg or plead with him or complain of it when he demanded she look at him. She let the tears fall, of course, and made no move to hide them. _At least they washed me yesterday so I may meet the end with a shred of dignity_ , a cool part of her noted as Ser Jaime escorted her out of the Black Cells.

It was dark outside, up above, but the pitch-black of midnight seemed bright as day to Sansa. _At least I will not be shamed before the mob_ , that same cool voice muttered as Sansa realized they meant to kill her in the dark of night. Ser Jaime bundled her in a dark cloak and nearly ran her down to the docks - drowning was not the style of the Lannisters but perhaps they would give her a chance to swim for freedom to mock her Tully roots. It would be of bad faith only for she had never been a good swimmer and would certainly drown, but better this than on her knees before the Sept of Baelor.

Only as Ser Jaime pushed her up a gangplank and onto one of the ships did Sansa realize what he was doing - her voice, not used in weeks and weeks and weeks, was too thready to be heard as she asked him what was happening, what he was doing. He seemed to understand, though.

"Oberyn Martell was to fight The Mountain tomorrow, to save you after the Queen executed our brother. He's been drugged, though, and if he doesn't sail with you he will die in the fight and he will die for nothing. He and his household cannot go to their homeland lest they risk the Queen's wrath - you're to sail North where your bastard brother rules Winterfell, and he shall go with you. Go, my lady, and may Lady Stark know my vow is fulfilled." With that Ser Jaime kissed Sansa's forehead and then dashed away into the night, leaving her shivering on the deck in naught but a cloak and a haircloth shift.

The men running the ship did not bother her or speak to her as they busied themselves with getting the ship underway. Under her bare, dirty feet the wood groaned and whimpered as the sails filled out with the night breezes. Sansa stood stock still, staring out as the docks faded into the gray blackness of night, and then with effort moving her eyes up to the Red Keep as the ship picked up speed and headed for open water. There were a few lights sparkling in the windows but no alarms were raised, and no beacons raced towards the great chain Lord Tyrion had installed at the mouth of the bay. She sank down to the deck an hour or two later when they crossed over the mouth of the bay and into the Narrow Sea, her mouth open as she wept and clutched her chest - her voice wouldn't come, though, and she only had the hot and cold from her tear stained cheeks to express herself.

Ser Jaime Lannister was a golden knight but he'd been a bad one for so long - and he'd saved her. For whatever reason he had braved his sister's rage and saved her.

Sansa sat on the deck of the ship for hours, watching King's Landing get swallowed up to look like only a dark blot on the lightening horizon and finally passing away entirely. When dawn broke she closed her eyes and tried to crawl towards whatever entrance to the cabins below was available - but was stopped by a delicate hand touching her shoulder, gently reaching down to take her hand and drawing her up to stand.

"Let me lead you to your cabin, my lady," a woman's voice said softly, "your eyes must pain you in the brightness of day."

Sansa swallowed a few times and managed a faint whispered _thank you_ before she let the woman guide her into the hold.


	2. Chapter 2

The bed she slept in--a real bed--had her weeping silent tears. She had never thought she would be looked after or allowed to be comfortable again. A gruff woman with wide, strong looking hands sat at her side on a stool for the day, occasionally stroking Sansa's forehead when she woke up in fits. She had dark eyes and her mouth didn't look made for smiling--but her smiles were genuine enough. The boat seemed to sail on smooth water, and it creaked only gently as the wind filled the sails.

"Will you be well enough alone for a few minutes?" the woman asked softly when Sansa finally stirred in earnest. She stood up and poured a mug of water, pressing it into Sansa's trembling hands and helping her lift it to her mouth. The water was so pure and cold it was almost sweet on her tongue.

"Only, my father has been inconsolable, he is still under the influence of whatever it is that Lannister woman gave him and won't believe that you've been saved. He thinks you've been done away with like your husband."

_Her father?_

The woman seemed to read something on Sansa's face and huffed what could have been a laugh. It reminded Sansa of Jon Snow, strangely enough.

"My father--Oberyn of the House Nymeros Martell, brother to the Prince of Dorne? Your champion?"

"O-oh...tell him I am well...?"

"He hasn't and won't believe any of us. I am going to go get him and show him that you're awake and breathing and your head is attached to your shoulders and your neck is unmolested. Are you well enough to be alone for a few minutes?"

Uncertain now but hoping it would all be for the best, Sansa nodded and drew the blanket up to her chin. When she'd been herded into this room a soft gown had been draped over her after the harsh haircloth shift was tugged off her with gentle motions--but otherwise she was as dirty and unkempt as she'd been when Ser Jaime spirited her out of the Black Cells.

"He will hopefully quiet when he sees you are hale and whole, my lady," the woman said.

The light coming in from the one window was bright but it wasn't warm. Whether that was the coldness of Autumn or of the sea Sansa did not know. It hurt her eyes but she was determined to enjoy it. Father had said that in the dead of Winter the sun hardly made it above the horizon for more than a few hours. Perhaps the Black Cells were meant to prepare and teach her what Winter would be like. Old Nan had always called her a summer child.

"Lady Sansa may we enter?" the woman called now after a short knock on the door. Sansa debated sitting up in bed but decided not to. She had been forced to sit upright to avoid waste and other horrors in the dark for weeks or months or however long she'd been down there in the dark and now she could lay flat without fear. If Prince Oberyn thought her rude he was welcome to the feeling.

"You see you old oaf? She is fine, right as rain, and after a bath and some of Elia's clothes she will look like just another one of your little sins." The woman walked in with Prince Oberyn slung over her shoulder, his feet drunken and stumbling while hers were sure and steady. The Dornishman was bleary eyed but managed to focus on Sansa and all the fight went out of him with what looked like relief.

"Obara, you got her out. How did you get her out?" He sounded drunk.

"I did nothing of the sort," the woman, Obara, replied, "it seems that Ser Queenfucker found a shred of chivalry in himself and he broke her out. Marched her right up the gangplank and fled into the night."

"My lady," he managed to say, getting a hand up to his chest in some approximation of a bow. The sunlight sparked on the silver in his long hair, the strands matted from sweat and unrest. Sansa knew she probably looked a sight as well and managed to twitch a small nod in return.

"My lord," she rasped in return. He looked like he would just ooze off the small stool Obara had sat on for most of the day and Sansa decided to gingerly move over in the narrow bed and pat the open spot. With a grateful twitch of her mouth Obara dropped her father down onto the bed and arranged his drunken limbs so he wasn't flopping about so much. His daughter, who seemed to have the same face as he did and was akin in age to Sansa's mother, settled down on the stool once more.

The prince fell asleep soon enough, his body boneless and only a faint snore rumbling in his chest. His relaxation had Sansa drifting off once more, her rest a bit deeper this time, and when she blinked awake again it was to the rosy fingers of pre-dawn light. Prince Oberyn slept on his side next to her, still snoring, with his forehead pressed up against her arm. His daughter had rolled out a blanket on the floor across the room, sound asleep in what to anyone else would have been deep darkness.

She didn't know what port they made for nor how long it would take them to get there but she let a whimper escape her lips in gratitude that she was with these people. There was a lot of darkness in the world but the stars showed through sometimes.

"You were willing to die for me," she whispered, just air through her lips, "no one has even cared for me in so long." She stroked Prince Oberyn's hair behind his ear, pleased with how soft it was between her fingers. It would look like he and his company had absconded with her, stolen away like cowards in the night. That was how it would look. But she knew that it took a brave man to face the Lannisters, to face whatever champion the Queen had decided on. Prince Oberyn nuzzled closer against her arm as she threaded her fingers through his hair, mumbling happily at the attention.

Her listless hours in the darkness of the Black Cells served her for she had the discipline to wait until everyone else was awake to see to her needs. When Obara stirred and woke up it startled the prince awake as well--he sat up, looked down at Sansa, and then fell out of bed with an undignified squawk. Sansa choked out a soft laugh, her voice still unused to being asked for, and eased up to sit crosslegged in the now empty bed.

Prince Oberyn's hair stuck up at all odd angles and his eyes were wild as he looked around himself quickly, breathing fast. He seemed, all in all, much better than he had been yesterday. His shirt was limp and wrinkled and his leggings were baggy from getting stretched out while he slept. Slowly he stood up and tried to smooth back his hair. It was not so long as her father's had been, and it was longer than that of Petyr Baelish or the Kingslayer, but it curled nicely at the nape of his neck.

"My lady, can I send for anything? I must admit I don't know what Ellaria deemed necessary to pack," he paused, rounding on his daughter and pointing at her, "I hope she collected the lot of you from wherever you were in the city, because I fear we cannot turn back."

"You should not have fathered so many of us then," Obara teased back, her voice a happy grumble.

"A bath and a nice dress, and a bit of a proper meal, I think," Oberyn said over her, turning once more to Sansa, "would any of those be agreeable?"

Tears suddenly burned her eyes for while yes, all of those would be agreeable Sansa wanted something else far more deeply after her time in the Black Cells:

"Might I--might I use the privy? A real one?" she was glad her two companions were silent for her voice was thready with fear and disuse.

And it was like she'd robbed the joy out of the prince, stolen everything that made his world bright, as he deflated in some kind of agony. His face fell but he seemed to draw his spine up straight as his shoulders sank.

"Of course, sweet lady. Obara, will you please assist Lady Sansa?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa was dressed in a gown borrowed from one of Elia Sand's chests. The fabric was richly dyed gray and purple but was sewn from only cotton, reinforced around the bodice with a thin wool felt, and otherwise unadorned. The other girl, the same age of nineteen as Sansa herself, had a face like Sansa had seen in girls around Winterfell--innocent, determined, and trustingly naive. She found herself intensely jealous for a long moment--this girl had her mother and father yet living, her brave older siblings were alive and well and safe, and her home stood proud and undefeated far away. Elia Sand had everything Sansa had lost. The jealousy drained out of her slowly, though, for Elia Sand had had no choice in her luck and no role in Sansa's misfortunes.

"Mother says gray distracts people's eyes from the dirt and grime from my horse. I hate gray, but you look well in this," Elia said as she'd gently laid a cheery yellow wool caplet over Sansa's shoulders.

Prince Oberyn had shocked the court by bringing not only a large company--numbering upwards of seventy lords, ladies, and knights--to the King's wedding but by also presenting his entire personal household and family to the court. Ellaria Sand, his paramour, and all eight of his bastards. Sansa had not been to court the day of his arrival and did not meet any of his household then. She met Prince Oberyn and his paramour at the wedding itself, and also been introduced to Lady Nym and Tyene Sand by way of running into them in the gardens.

Elia led her to a large cabin in the belly of the ship just as the sun was going down, arm in arm just as Sansa had done with Jeyne Poole when they were only children. She didn't feel like only a child anymore. At their entrance all of the men rose to give small bows to them, including a much-rested Prince Oberyn who pulled out a seat for Sansa at his side. On the table was a full supper arranged on a dozen or more platters, and the prince filled her plate for her--he might have even fed her, morsel by morsel, if she'd expressed the least inclination for it.

"You are looking much better, my lady," Obara said after everyone had been introduced.

"You are kind to say so, I am certainly feeling much better," Sansa replied, tucking her elbows close to herself as she started eating. "The ship has seemed to glide across the water, I had always thought they pitched and rolled on the waves. Where will we make port?"

"We make northeast, for Braavos, nowhere else will take us at the moment I am afraid and we cannot go North in case the Kingslayer cannot keep his mouth shut about our destination," Ellaria said with a smile over her wineglass, "we are scoundrels and theives, after all." _Even me,_ Sansa thought, in her borrowed dress and her memories of King's Landing sharp in her mind. Had she somehow managed to poison Joffrey with just the will of her mind? Perhaps, she'd come to the conclusion while down in the dark, perhaps she had. They said her mother's blood had welled up and drowned Lord Frey's wife where the woman had stood.

The meal was relaxed and amiable but Sansa was not able to eat much of it. She just couldn't summon the appetite beyond what she had become used to during her captivity, though she did make sure to sample a bite of everything that looked good or something she hadn't seen before. The Dornish potatoes were a startling lavender purple, something she'd heard of but never seen, and they'd been roasted with leeks and peppers. The food burned her mouth but there was a ready glass of honeyed milk pressed into her hand by Prince Oberyn when she started to sneeze and cough. He smiled as she gratefully took a sip, swishing the milk in her mouth to try and cool the fire.

"What will we do in Braavos?" she whispered to him once everyone had had their giggle and moved on to their conversations. The prince slung an arm around her shoulder, resting his head against hers as he stared into some nameless distance.

"Ride the barges of the courtesans in the canals, let them run feathers down our arms and along the backs of our legs as we drink wine under the stars. Eat clams and cockles pulled fresh from the sea, laugh at each other when someone gags at the texture or the taste or the cold of the sea. Wait for the Lannisters to finish pulling down the realm around their ears, wait for dragons to fly us home," he whispered back, hugging her closer and reaching out for a morsel of cut sunmelon and pushing it against her fingers until she took it.

Sansa turned the bit of fruit this way and that, admiring it in the evening twilight through the windows and the lamplight from the ceilings. It sounded like a hedonistic dream. She'd never had the chance to have any hedonistic dreams, had never been allowed to entertain them, had never even thought to want them.

"Where will we be going after Braavos?"

"Home, when the dragons come, didn't you hear my dear? My nephew has married a dragon queen, they head westward every day with an army five times the population of King's Landing in tow."

_Targaryens, with more war._

Sansa shivered and popped the melon into her mouth, inhaling deeply at the sweetness of it despite the troubles he spoke of. Her companion shifted a little to watch her. His expression was still a little far away but he seemed to have something on his mind and she waited patiently for him to speak.

"I asked them to give you to me, I suggested Lord Tyrion take the Black and they give me your hand once he did so. It wasn't spoken of, but their reactions showed it all. I overplayed myself, and it tortured me that I'd let them know I meant to save you. The trial dragged on and on, on and on, and you were down in the dark. When Lord Tyrion lost his head I stepped forward as your champion in trial by combat. They knew anyway, why throw away my last and only chance."

"It would have been shocking to come up out of the darkness and into a marriage ceremony," Sansa replied, reaching for another cube of melon, "but I may still need your help if you're willing to give it."

"If you're willing to accept my family, my lady, then I am willing to follow you all the way to the frozen north to shiver and freeze and suffer." Sansa twitched a smile at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"But first the courtesans of Braavos." Prince Oberyn laughed and kissed her forehead in return, murmuring that of course they would see the courtesans of Braavos before any of their other plans.


	4. Chapter 4

They'd been in Braavos for three months, taking gentle rides on the barges of courtesans and amusing themselves at the parties and day-long debates that started over lavish breakfasts at the homes of merchants and bankers and lasted well into the evenings. News had made it to them that Queen Cersei had been murdered by her brother in the middle of court as she ranted and raved for the head of whoever had betrayed her--the boy-king Tommen and his grandfather, Lord Tywin, had had the Kingslayer arrested and shipped off to the Watch, less his sword-hand. Prince Oberyn grumbled it was not enough, Ellaria Sand said it was too much, and Sansa thought it was deeply fitting.

The Kingslayer had risked everything to get Sansa out of King's Landing but he had also been the one to injure her father, he had been the one to run away, he had been the one who got everyone into this mess by being a Kingslayer and a Queen...the lover of a queen. He'd given Sansa her life and deserved to live, but sometimes bad cannot be washed out and only covered up. The Black would cover his sins and then some. When she explained this to her companions only Obara and Sarella agreed with her and it was the first time she and Prince Oberyn had argued.

It had been refreshing and thrilling--she was alive, and she was allowed to yell and point her finger and stamp her foot and let ugly tears fall down her face. The feeling had left her faint afterwards, but not as faint as finding out she was not penniless and without a shred of family to her name.

They had discovered soon after arriving that Ser Brynden Tully had survived the Red Wedding years ago and had smuggled the hidden coffers of the Tullys across the Narrow Sea and deposited the gold and trinkets and heirlooms into the Iron Bank to be claimed by the "eldest living child of Lady Catelyn Tully, provided that child was not parent to one of Lannister, Frey, or Bolton blood." Sansa had come into an inheritance that had once been meant to go to her uncle, Edmure Tully, but he was dead and the father of a Frey-blooded child besides. As Sansa sat with an old retired banker, as old as Old Nan and as white of hair, she tried not to think about that though as the old man taught her what ship-assurances were and how to collect them from traders who transported goods on her behalf. Money was not kept and made by having money, the little old man was always reminding her, but in begetting itself from interest and consolidation over years. Her grandfather had done better than many men in Westeros by simply burying his treasures but they had festered away compared to what they could have been doing over so many years.

The money allowed her to live independently of the means Prince Oberyn lived upon from his family's trusts in the Iron Bank, something she was thankful for when she showered his younger daughters with gifts and bought herself silk yarn stockings and fur-lined wooden clogs to go over her slippers on mornings when the fog was thick and freezing. Prince Oberyn and his family were a bit miserable in the cold but Sansa sometimes pretended she was at home in Winterfell on a summer day.

Tonight, though, the night was balmy, a little cool, but otherwise the air was still and wonderfully fresh. Aboard the barge of The Moonshadow Sansa curled up between Obara and Daemon Sand as they watched the courtesan lead Oberyn through a slow, angular dance from somewhere in Sothyros. It was for meditation and exercise but it was also beautiful to watch. To ward away any chill breezes Sansa wore a gently fitted robe of plush velvet of a blue so dark and rich it looked black without the aid of sunlight or close candlelight. Ser Daemon was engrossed with drawing little circles on her upper arm to see the weft and wend of the velvet under his fingertips. Beneath it she had on a kirtle of the softest silk, no corset or stays beneath it other than her smallclothes. Ellaria Sand had commanded the Braavosi dressmakers to leave Sansa as free as possible and that no harsh seams or ties ought to touch her skin or restrict her movement.

It had felt, the first few weeks, like wearing night clothes but now Sansa wore the garments as comfortably as though she'd grown up in them.

Stars twinkled up above them through the lacy canopy above the deck of the barge, and light music floated from just below in the cramped hold. She was told there was just enough room for storage of supplies--oil cloth tarpaulins to protect the deck from the rain, colored curtains made of silk, lace, and the sheerest linen, and a few spaces like a tiny scullery with a cold box for the finger delicacies served to those who joined the courtesan and her students on their journeys through the canals, and a small place for a harpist and a flautist to relax on cushions from sunset to the early morning hours.

"The Moonshadow congratulates you on what she understands is a happy occasion," one of the handmaidens murmured, coming to kneel before Sansa with a small platter held before her. On the platter were five hair forks inlaid with moonstones and topaz, "she hopes you find happiness and that you'll still think of her fair city fondly when your hair is as light as moonlight."

Before she murmured her thanks or even reached towards the hair forks Sansa looked intently into the face of the handmaiden. She'd learned to never take things from people she had not taken the measure of. It was hard to tell in the flickering lamplight and moonlight but the girl's eyes were gray, and while her hair was dusted with some kind of white powder it was thick and dark beneath the dust--Arya. _Arya!_

But her sister had not come to her, not said anything, not thrown herself at Sansa in relief. Perhaps she was not allowed to, perhaps she thought herself not welcome, perhaps she thought Sansa to be brainless and unthinking as she'd been when they were girls together.

"Please pass on my sincere thanks to your lady," Sansa said, carefully selecting one of the forks that did not have any topaz on it, "and tell her I give you this pin to invite you to my home as an exalted guest, to be treated as mine own sister." There was no reaction in the girl's face, but Sansa had not truly expected there to be any--her plan lay in holding onto the jeweled metal when the handmaiden reached for it.

The handmaiden tried to take it from her but Sansa did not let go until the young woman finally murmured her acknowledgement--

"I will tell her of your sisterly love, my lady, and of your thanks." With that Sansa released the hair fork. Was Arya playing a part here? Was she truly apprenticed as a courtesan? Did the answer matter if she did not cling to Sansa, her last family in the world, when presented the chance?

"The prince and I will marry in Braavos the day before the new moon, would your lady allow you to attend the wedding as her emissary? Does she object to the Faith?" Sansa cursed her hopeful tongue but couldn't stop the words as they tumbled out. The ashy haired young woman's gray eyes blinked in confusion and a bit of pleased surprise.

"I will ask her, my lady."

The girl crept away, leaving Sansa with the tray of four hair forks. They were lovely, and when Daemon suggested she let him put her hair up with them she acquiesced happily. Obara looked on a little suspiciously.

"Do you know that girl, Sansa?"

"I think so, from another life," she decided to answer, knowing that each of her companions had seen the entire interaction, "but it is only a thought. A hope," she added quietly as Daemon tilted her head this way and that as his fingers wove her hair up into a bun at the nape of her neck. Obara did not question her further, pursing her lips but looking away and through the lace curtains towards a pair of dueling bravos who were stopped in the middle of their duel to bow deeply at the barge as it passed. One had blood dribbling down his arm, it dripped from his wrist where he held his blade at an elegant angle. Perhaps he would have a moment to catch his breath and win his bout--or perhaps his bloodloss was weakening him and the pause pushed him further towards his death. Sansa did not comment and the barge glided on by the two men as though they were not there.

It was only hours from dawn when the barge docked at the manse they were staying at and The Moonshadow herself guided Sansa up to her bedchamber. The courtesan had white hair and dressed tonight in white linen so finely woven that it was transparent, and her lips were painted a soft gray. She smiled over the moonstones that twinkled through Sansa's red hair and helped ready her for bed, tucking her in, and sitting at her bedside.

"My girl, Sorrow, says you gave her a gift and invited me to your wedding? What a thoughtful young lady you are."

"She reminded me of my sister, the one I lost."

"Then it would be my pleasure to send her to your wedding," The Moonshadow said, moving to thread her fingers through Sansa's. "Your prince hopes he is all you expect him to be--he hoped to show his gentleness and attentiveness with his dancing. Did he succeed, or did Sorrow distract you too much?"

It was a double-edged question. Sorrow-- _Arya_ \--was supposed to be learning to seduce and please and distract, but she was also still training and ought not out-glow her teacher without express permission. Pleasing both The Moonshadow and Oberyn were important, but not at the expense of a powerless innocent. Whether the girl was Arya or not mattered little at that point.

"He has long proved his attentiveness, although I appreciate his dancing for it showed he can control his passions and gentle them enough for a maiden such as me. Your Sorrow was lovely, she was well-mannered and polite, and removed herself once her assigned task was completed. I hope she can continue to learn from your example for her presence was as soft and unobtrusive as moonlight."

The Moonshadow smiled widely then, her teeth shockingly white when framed by gray lips.

"Then as the moon sets I declare this evening a success. I will tell Sorrow to leave her name behind when she attends your wedding, for a wedding is no place for something such as sorrow."

Sansa hesitated then and squeezed her hands around the older woman's once before she spoke.

"After the life I have lived, my lady, I would hate to pretend that I marry without sadness and regrets. If she is willing, I would not have Sorrow pretend to be anything but what she is." Maybe the message would make it to Arya, maybe she would understand. Sansa hoped so.

"Of course," the courtesan replied, leaning in to kiss Sansa before standing to drift out of the room and into the gray pre-dawn light.


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks later The Moonshadow sent Sorrow to the manse when the moon set, just a hairline of silver light winking out in the early morning hours. The next evening was that of the new moon, and the girl was dead on her feet exhausted when she arrived at the manse. She'd had her duties from moonrise to moonset, but before that there were also the late-afternoon tasks she'd had to take care of before the barge pushed off for a night of trysting and appearances. Sansa moved over in her own bed and let the girl bed down for the few hours until the household would awake and begin getting ready for the wedding later in the day.

Was the girl named Sorrow her sister, Arya? Truly? Perhaps Sansa had hoped too far. But it did not hurt to make friends in Braavos--The Moonshadow's biggest patrons were the lords of the Iron Bank, after all. Not as great a patronage as the Sealord of Braavos, but still incredibly important. Sansa was happy to let the girl sleep as she busied herself with dressing for her wedding.

Her dress was a pure column of dark gray wool with a bright white velvet overdress with cheeky points that fell to her mid-thighs. It was very fashionable in Braavos and had the stern simplicity that a girl from the North ought to bring with her to her wedding day. Her only jewels were those given to her by Oberyn's daughters and by The Moonshadow herself. According to the Braavosi it was bad luck to wear your own jewels on your wedding day, it was stating you thought yourself above your future family. The old banker Sansa studied numbers with had told her it was from the slaves who had escaped Valyria that the tradition came from--Valyrian women would spend lavishly on their wedding jewels, giving their jewels to their daughters and never to the women their sons married, and sometimes they wore so many their skin couldn't be seen.

The slaves who escaped to freedom had shared and shared alike in those earliest days, jewels were rare and treasured and recycled endlessly between the leading families. The gift of trinkets and jewels among those who could afford them remained a cherished institution of the Braavosi. They were given to old friends to affirm old bonds, they were given to those one wanted to become friends with.

Sorrow slept in Sansa's bed with the moonstone hair fork clutched in her hand tightly as she slept. Sansa supposed that must make them friends now, among the Braavosi. Even if Arya was truly gone Sansa had made a friend, and it left a warm feeling bubbling in her chest as she got ready.

She and the prince were to marry in a small sept paid for and maintained by Westerosi traders from the Vale and the Riverlands, the only entrance facing the large canal it was located on, and hours later they boarded a small fast pole boat to meet the septon. Sorrow went arm-in-arm with Ellaria, a cloth of silver veil obscuring her face and hair above a rich black linen dress. Sansa herself was handed into the boat by Elia Sand who had a wry and displeased smirk for her--she maintained that Sansa should not have to marry someone, _anyone_ , to secure her place in life but had been told to keep her opinions to herself by her eldest sister. Obara was world-weary and jaded--and always had been according to everyone including herself. Sansa needed someone who wouldn't run roughshod over her once they were married, and she needed someone who did not feel the need to win glory for themselves any more--she needed a man like Oberyn.

The wedding was much happier and easy than Sansa's first wedding, and Sansa was happy to dance and make merry with the guests at the meal in the early afternoon once they returned to the manse. When Oberyn drew her up and away from the party Sansa followed him with trembling hands and a racing heart. Despite all her trials and terrors she'd never had a man, and now here was one that was promised to her before the Seven. The company cheered as they left the room, none moved to grab them or their clothes as they did, and returned to their merry-making as soon as they disappeared upstairs.

Oberyn undressed first--his boots, his robes, his tunic, everything came off--before he even laid a finger to Sansa. She loosened the ties on her overdress, stepped out of her slippers, and then let Oberyn help her out of her dresses. His hands were hot on her back once her dresses were gone, one rubbing gentle circles on her shoulder and the other resting at her waist. Sansa shuddered with surprise when he scrubbed his chin against her shoulder-blade and up to the side of her neck, ending with a warm kiss. The hand on her other shoulder snaked around and splayed wide over her middle, pulling her back against him.

"You are so lovely," he whispered, "you are so sweet and good. I feel like no one has ever noticed. I feel like I found water in a diamond mine. There are gems, to be sure, but gems do not sustain a man."

Sansa whimpered down low in her throat, pleasure zinging through her as Oberyn scuffed his chin against her shoulder once more. She still did not make much noise, even months after leaving the Black Cells. She had a lot of nightmares, but she bore them in silence. What could anyone do for the ways her mind chose to torture her? Warm milk and soft kisses helped but did not erase what had been done. Sometimes what was wrong could not be washed away, only covered up. Sansa was still good at covering things up, keeping her true mind to herself and sharing counsel with no one. Once in a while she spoke to Obara, the Sand Snake least interested in intrigue of the eight girls.

She shared very little with anyone else, her secret thoughts staying secret would keep her safe.

"The coin to be had from selling gems helps," Sansa managed to say though, fighting to keep her mind in the moment rather than wandering. Her voice was just as low as his own had been.

"Yes, my love, ever practical after all," he laughed back, turning her in his arms to kiss her more fully and palm one of her breasts. "Sweet, and good, and practical. My little wife."

Sansa's mouth went a dry but she managed to rasp out an almost inaudible _not yet_ , which had her husband claiming her mouth and kissing her deeply while walking her back towards the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well after three re-writes lets hope that this time I've stuck the landing yeah?

Sansa had been married just five moons when Sorrow drowned in one of the canals. The Moonshadow sent along a note, both informing Sansa and expressing her own condolences. Sorrow's death should not have hurt as much as it did but Sansa retreated to her rooms and did not come out for several days. Her husband's household left her alone for the most part, someone often leaving a tray just inside her door at meal times and drawing a hot bath once a day in the afternoons. She saw no one save Obara Sand who barged in with little fanfare and would awkwardly stroke Sansa's hair as she lay abed. It was oddly enough like her first day on the voyage here.

"I didn't even know her but," Sansa mumbled, her eyes hot from tears she'd shed and her voice rough from swallowing her sobbing, "she was my friend without me asking her to be. She didn't do it because anyone made her, either."

"That is how I felt when my aunt Elia passed. I had been living with the Martells for, oh," Obara's dark eyes were far away, her face turning much younger as she went back in her memory, "three or four months when Prince Doran took my father and I with him to Harrenhal. The princess was kind to me, taking special time to ask if I wanted to be educated by a septa or a maester--she laughed when I said I wanted to learn to fight from my father, reading could wait. I never saw her again after that trip, but she wrote me letters until the ravens couldn't get in or out of King's Landing. My uncle the prince would read them to me in his solar."

Obara went with Sansa to the funeral that was held for Sorrow, a solemn and small affair on a quay, and walked with her the rest of the afternoon afterwards. Sorrow had been an orphan and her family had been her fellow students aboard the barge. It had been the barge that was her undoing, though--she had been reaching for a posset of flowers offered to The Moonshadow and lost her balance. Another barge had ploughed over her and she'd not surfaced afterwards. An acolyte from the House of Black and White had pulled her from the harbor a few days later and known her by the moon beam outfit she wore.

Because of how her friend had died Sansa insisted they walk to the little funeral. Taking a barge or flatboat was the fastest way to get around Braavos, but there were enough bridges around that most places _could_ be walked to. Sansa played with the hair fork that The Moonshadow had given back to her, saying that Sorrow had no other true possessions and that the girl would have wanted Sansa to have it.

The day was foggy and rainy, reminding Sansa of Winterfell so much it hurt. She had never told anyone she thought that Sorrow was Arya in disguise. She had never even hinted what she thought to Sorrow herself, and now it felt like she had lost every Stark and every bit of family she'd ever had. There was her mother's uncle, the Blackfish, but he was living in hiding somewhere in Westeros according to the Iron Bank. She had no one else, no one that was just hers--she hadn't even missed her courses once, despite being married to no less than Prince Oberyn Martell for almost half a year.

Her husband walked just a quarter step behind her, not quite equal to her as was the custom in Braavos as well as cities like Lorath and Norvos. Whichever spouse was of greater social importance walked first. He kept a hand at the small of her back though, to let her know he was near.

"How do you say Sorrow in Rhoynish?" she asked, turning just slightly to look up at Oberyn. Her question took him aback for a long moment before he sounded out his response, slowly so she could hear it properly.

"Chroy. It is a word that brings ill-luck to evil doers, and glory to the good. It meant 'golden dawn' before the Valyrians came, according to the water witch I studied with for a year when I was a boy."

Oberyn must have caught the thought as it went through her head, and he was quick to try to assure her.

"Sansa, you still have a sister, and your mother's uncle, both out there in the wilds of the world. Perhaps the gods have been good and saved your bastard brother."

"No. Arya is gone, it has been long enough for news of my escape from King's Landing to become notorious that she would have come for me if she were still alive. I only know the Blackfish through tall tales about his exploits. Jon Snow was never loved as a brother ought to have been." Chroy--it was perhaps a boy's name, Sansa thought.

Grief flickered naked over her husband's face as he figured out the true bent of her thoughts.

"Sansa. I understand that you are bereaved, I know it deeply, but my dear I--I will not let you give a child of mine such a millstone for a name." Her heart had the decency to flush her cheeks with a blush, even as Sansa thought that he was perhaps putting the cart before the horse. He slipped his arms around her, kissing her forehead. They did not speak of Sorrow again, even in euphemism, as a year then another passed them by. Sansa made other friends, making a name for herself as a patron of the poor and of women. Her discussion salons were the celebration of the city--she promoted intense debates about the rights of women, her speakers carefully playing on the strong anti-slavery sentiments of her Braavosi guests.

Eventually the dragons had flown to Westeros, and when the flames of war died down they made plans to pack up their household and sail for Sunspear. Sansa intended to make her life in Dorne, with her husband's family, because her half-brother Jon Snow had put up their younger brother, Bran, up as Lord of Winterfell. As a married woman there was no place in those halls any longer, she'd never been meant to return to them even if the wars and murders and plots of the last ten years had never happened.

Watching Braavos sink away into the horizon Sansa let a few tears slip down her face. She had been happy there, but her companions were unhappy. It was too cold for them. She'd wanted to have a child where it was cold, to put the ice in their bones that had saved her over the years, but perhaps Dorne would give them the kind of fire that had saved her husband time and time again.

No one saw her tears other than the helmsman, everyone else had retreated to their beds after getting up so early to catch the tide.

No one, Sansa thought, until a pair of elbows descended on the ship's rail next to hers.

She looked over slowly, trying to see which of Oberyn's daughters it might be--or anyone else in the company. The fabric was a rich Braavosi ruby velvet, like many textiles dyed so dark it was nearly black. After two years in Braavos, though, Sansa was proficient with identifying the colors. The nails on the woman's hands were nicely filed, and certainly long enough to be a refined lady's. That didn't mean she was a lady, though, or even a courtesan. There were always Petyr Baelishes in the world.

A swing of dark hair, with even waves in it that reminded Sansa faintly of her mother's red locks, and a strong nose that reminded Sansa of what she could recall of her father's face. Arya _?_ Sansa had for the past two years nursed a pathetic and private obsession. Every raven haired young woman with a proud face had made her heart skip a beat--seeing either Sorrow or Arya for a moment every time. It never was.

"Why aren't you going to go home?"

Arya.

 _Arya_.

"Arya, a wife must live with her husband," Sansa chose to say, not acknowledging that her sister had chosen to appear to her _now_ , and to complain about Sansa's choices in life, "and besides, while Oberyn is willing to live in Winterfell there is not a place there for a married daughter to return to. To think otherwise is foolish."

"I thought that you'd learn to let go of such sorrows," Arya said, reaching to grasp Sansa's hand tightly when she whimpered out a sob, "make him take you North. It is your due. It is his responsibility." Sansa blinked away tears and laid her other hand atop Arya's.

"It would destabilize what Jon and Bran are trying to do, to have their scandalous sister bring her even more scandalous goodfamily and take up half the castle. Arya--think. My husband will bring his lover, his eight bastards, and may request some of his personal household of servants and guards also be allowed to stay. That could be twenty people, give or take. That would be twenty mouths to feed and a sister who will have a daughter of her own within the year."

"And Sunspear has better accomodations?"

Sansa let more tears spill down her face--she didn't want to find Arya and immediately fight. This was supposed to have gone differently. It was all supposed to have gone differently. She desperately tried to stay quiet though, feeling the old tendrils of the Black Cells tightening around her. Whatever was unraveled would not get worse if she could only not alert anyone to it.

"Sansa--"

"Please stop," she whispered, "please. I've lost too much to lose you now over this. I've lost _you_ too many times." Had Arya meant to send her on a path of growth by literally drowning her sorrows? It had not done what she'd wanted, Sansa decided.

"Arya," even saying her sister's name was painful, having avoided saying it religiously over the last few years, "Arya, what are your plans now that the wars are ended? Do you plan to marry and live in Winterfell, whiling away your days at Bran's expense? Do you plan to live at Winterfell, a maiden aunt the rest of your days, fighting off the suitors who are thrown at you?"

"I--I--I will carry out--Sansa--"

"You will go adventuring," Sansa whispered, daring to lean her head against her sister's, "and want to consign me to Winterfell where you think that everything will be wonderful once more. I, however, intend to consign myself to Sunspear. Why must I obey you when you've been so very elusive? Letting me see you, letting me feel a bit mad, and always staying out of my grasp. Like," she paused before laying down her winning card, "a bit of moonlight."

"We're wolves," Arya said, "and the pack must stay together."

"You've been alone, and I have a new pack. Arya, you can't make me do _anything_. Oberyn can't make me, either. The best bet for real freedom I have is in Braavos or Dorne--and my family needs to be in Dorne. Just as you need to adventure. Surely you see that. Somehow?"

"Sansa he will be fifty before your son can even hold his own head up."

Sansa closed her eyes and pressed a scream at her vocal chords but no sound left her lips. Oberyn was no longer young, he never had been, and more and more silver sparked his inky curls as time went by. The lines around his eyes were put there by laughter but they were deeper than they had been when she'd married him. Arya was acting like Sansa was blind to this.

"And his family put the Targaryens in the throne again--the Targaryens who made an alliance with Bran and Jon. If he dies young I could marry again, or stay with his brother's family. But this," she touched the low swell of her stomach, "is a girl. Not every girl will have her Jon Snow, or her bruise-making dancing master. The best chance my little one has is to grow up in Dorne."

Arya made no more complaints after that, pouting. She at least had the decency to understand that her own experiences would not be universal.

They stayed out on the railing, watching the waves, until the sun beat too heavily down on Sansa that she led them inside to one of the sleeping cabins. As she put Arya to bed her sister whispered a small ' _thank you_ '. Despite the hurt feelings that their argument dredged up Sansa found it in herself to kiss Arya's head, then pressed her forehead against her sister's.

"We may not ever see eye to eye, sister, but hopefully we continue to brave one another's rage and become friends. Like we should have been," Sansa said as she stood up to make her way to her own bed. It might not be enough to make her sister stay, but Sansa decided, as she walked towards the cabin she shared with Oberyn and Ellaria, that it was a good cornerstone to lay down at the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought of this now that it is done!


End file.
